


slowly, silently

by nanakomatsus



Category: NU'EST, Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, if you're looking for a happy story this isn't it, mentioned ongniel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanakomatsus/pseuds/nanakomatsus
Summary: Of lust, blood and something akin to loveOr, Seongwoo stares into a gaping black hole and sees Minhyun staring back.





	slowly, silently

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags, don't get upset  
> soundtrack : hunger - florence + the machine

 

It is done.

 

Dirt and bones crackle under his feet as he walks across the blackened field, the smell of ash and rotting meat numbing his senses. The blood staining his teeth have lost their metallic taste, the soot, clumping around the teeth of his hair.

 

He looks out into the horizon, beyond the dark cliff, beyond the dark waters below, and watches as the last of the storm withdraws back up to the heavens, bringing with it all the souls reaped over the winter. There is nothing else to say other than a silent prayer and a plead-

 

“Don’t do that,” comes a sharp voice as Seongwoo takes his place beside him. His handsome face is marred with red across the bridge of his nose, the laughter lines at the corners of his curved lips now downtrodden by sorrow. His eyes seem to hold the storm that has left. Jonghyun smiles to himself, smiles at his mirror standing tall beside him.

 

“We should be heading back at dawn,” his second-in-command says evenly, of course, ever the voice of reason when least expected. Jonghyun nods, he’s grateful for it, will always be.

 

“The bodies?” He asks, and he knows the answer, but he considers this a final act of kindness. Seongwoo knows too, but he indulges.

 

“The monks will be here for a cleansing. There’s nowhere else for them to go,” he says, voice hardening. There’s a lick of a dangerous flame in those last words but it’s gone as soon as it comes. Jonghyun hums, as expected, turns on his heel and begins walking straight back to their barracks as bits of destroyed earth rise and fall beneath his feet.

 

Seongwoo follows closely behind, picking up the pieces left behind by the General, uncaring of himself.

 

 

 

There is a banquet as soon as they arrive.

 

There is music and laughter. The city rejoices in victory for three days and three nights. Jonghyun, smiles and smiles, quiet and polite. Hard to tell he was the man who’d won the war. But anyone who truly knows can see it in the hesitation every time he is offered a drink, every time they bow down to him, thanking him and congratulating him as if he’d done something worthy of being a god.

 

Seongwoo, on the other hand, drowns himself under the beat of the drums that thrum through the air relentlessly, keeping his heart in his throat. He drowns himself with the spirits that are offered to him even before the previous cup is dry and separated from his lips. He laughs aloud, at the irony of it all; at these old fucks who couldn’t care less about the black, gaping hole, right outside the city walls, filled with corpses as they shower him with gold.

 

The king is red-faced when he announces a toast to them, his voice ringing out through the grand hall as a deadly silence settles in, not even a whisper escaping the lips from those below.

 

“Today, we celebrate a new dawn! We celebrate those who have given their lives to defend the honour of our great nation! We give thanks to the gods who smile down on us and bless our people. We show gratitude to the men who have served us well. To a new age!”

 

His voice booms out, and it filters through Seongwoo’s mind as a garbled monstrosity because he wants to scream, he wants to tell everyone of the voices in his head, the screams of people who no longer walk the earth, he wants to kill kill kill he wants blood he needs to-

 

Jonghyun touches his glass to his own. Seongwoo blinks as the man’s other hand comes to rest on his thigh. Immediately, he relaxes. Plastering a smile, he holds his cup high, shouting thanks to heavens. His eyes begin to sting.

 

As the world spins out of control, a gust of wind brushes past, and he tilts his cup upwards, letting the liquid burn his throat, consuming him whole.

 

 

 

There is a shadow, waiting on the other side of the shoji panels, head bent to the ground in greeting.

 

“Who sent you,” he asks, nerves beginning to sizzle.

 

The figure in blue sits up to reveal a painted face with delicate feline features, wide shoulders and hollow, empty brown eyes. Very much like his own. Seongwoo grimaces, sliding the panels shut with more force than necessary, sending the white screens shaking.

 

“Good evening, Master. I have come at the request of His Most Devine, the King. I will be at your service for as long as you-” His voice is velvety and betrays no emotion at all, like a puppet.

 

“Get out,” Seongwoo’s voice cuts clean through the air. The gisaeng remains unfazed.

 

“I’m afraid I am not allowed to leave-”

 

“Now.”

 

“-lest the King has my head on a silver tray and yours replacing a boar’s on its body,” he finishes, monotone, as if the thought doesn’t bother him in the least, as if he’s given up. But then, when Seongwoo fixes him with a hard glare, his empty browns meets his own and he dares to challenge-

 

“You don’t seem like one to give a life away on a whim.”

 

Seongwoo’s fingers are wrapped around his throat, the fragile, white skin of his neck beginning to bloom red. The man remains calm, not making any attempt to free himself. Instead his hands lay, palms upturned, on the floor beside him. Even as he struggles for air, there is no fear in his eyes.

 

“Nor one to take away a life. Not like this,” he continues. “Am I wrong?”

 

Seongwoo’s grip tightens, his teeth clenching and he could just end it here and it would just be another one among thousands of others and he can go to sleep and never wake up-

 

He drops the man to the floor, hears his head hit the bamboo mat with a dull thud, sees a flash of bright red fingerprints against stark white and feels the bile coming up his throat.

 

The man sits to a corner, silently, watching expressionlessly as the maids leave in a haste after the mess. He watches Seongwoo strip and change into new robes, not uttering a single word.

 

It goes like this, with Seongwoo going over to him, looking down and studying him. He takes a lock of light brown hair between his fingers, memorising the texture, before slowly beginning to run his whole hand against the man’s scalp. The gisaeng lets out a small sound of satisfaction, letting his eyes flutter close.

 

Seongwoo’s fingers travel downwards, lingering on his red stained lips,  to his jaw, to the stinging mark on his neck, his collarbones. He stops at the collar of the blue ornamental robes. Then, his lips quirk into a smirk and he shakes his head and turns on his heel.

 

The lamps are blown out. The man is a shadow at the corner of his room once again as Seongwoo is pulled down under, into the abyss of his mind.

 

 

 

“Read for me.”

 

They sit on the veranda. Seongwoo leans against a wooden post, staring out at the still, white lake, frozen over.

 

> _“The cock crows in his thatched house by the river._
> 
> _I know that dawn draws near.”_

 

Minhyun’s voice is sweet and airy, contrasting the harsh weather.

 

Seongwoo watches his hands as he flips through the pages, lithe fingers moving with a practiced grace, forged from years of experience. He looks not a day older than the lieutenant general himself and yet, there is something about the curves around his eyes that portray an unspoken wisdom beyond his years. He’s elegant in every manner, from the fluttering of his eyelids, from the enunciation of his words, it’s hard to believe he isn’t looking at one of noble blood. He’s perfect and yet…

 

Seongwoo tears his eyes away, instead turning to the naked trees. That sense of uneasiness clings to him, much like how the scent of blood had clung to his hair in the days following the war. He’s not looking at just any figure of pleasure, a gift, he’s looking at a distraction. A very dangerous one at that.

 

“Is there something bothering you, Master Ong?”

 

“Did you come alone?”

 

There is silence as Minhyun weighs his answer carefully.

 

“No.”

 

Seongwoo hums. He stills for a moment, calculating, before rising from his seat and heading back into his given home. He stops short at the doors.

 

“Come have dinner with me tonight.”

 

And he steps in, heading to his study and locking the door behind him until the sun sets.

 

 

 

It’s been a while since he’d had a meal that did not consist of simply rice and soup. Even during the celebrations, Seongwoo had avoided everything but rice, soups and desserts. And now, they sit facing each other, a long table between them, filled with dozens of delicacies. He gulps, taking a pair of chopsticks in one hand and hovers over the food.

 

His eyes catch that of a tuna’s head, staring back at him, wde-eyed and soulless. He suppresses the urge to scream and vomit, opting for beef stew instead. Minhyun seems to have caught his brief panic but chooses to stay quiet, sipping on his sake.

 

They eat in silence, clearing out dishes and getting replenishments right away. The servants stream in one after another until Seongwoo finally sets down his cup and waves them off. A large lacquer box is placed at the center of the table and a gayageum is brought in.

 

Minhyun takes his place by the instrument.

 

Outside, the wind howls through the trees, whistling an eery song of its own.

 

He begins to play.

 

The plucking of the gayageum fills the air, Minhyun’s mellifluous voice in tune with the music he plays, flowing as the snow flurries outside.

 

_My wandering life, following songs; let’s try to resolve deep layers of worries and sorrows_

_There are many bright small stars in the bright blue sky; we have many worries in our heart-_

 

The next moment, Seongwoo has him pinned on the floor.

 

Minhyun reaches out, until he feels the cold lacquer against his skin. He holds a purple songpyeon between his fingers. Slowly, Seongwoo opens his mouth and allows himself to be fed. The sweet taste of sesame seeds bursts in his mouth.

 

Minhyun’s thumb rests at the corner of his mouth, brushing over his lips as he chews.

 

Seongwoo darts his tongue out, capturing the faint taste of kabocha and soft skin. Minhyun keeps his hand still, allowing him to suck on his fingers, letting him revel in the taste of the dried apricots and him.

 

Then, Seongwoo’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and gently, he pulls him up, as the other hand cups the small of his neck, bringing them closer together until they’re mere centimeters apart.

 

Minhyun’s breath is sweet with the rice wine from earlier, entangled with the faint scent of peaches. He darts his tongue out against Seongwoo’s lips once, twice, reaching up every time as the other hovers above him, unsure.

 

Impatiently, he presses their lips together, once, twice, until he’s sure Seongwoo isn’t going to back away and he doesn’t and they kiss many more times as their hands roam each other’s bodies, pressing into soft skin, eliciting soft moans drowned out by the rustling of dead branches against wind outside.

 

 

 

Seongwoo decides to finally visit Jonghyun to discuss military matters.

 

The skies are clearer today and he walks without really paying attention until he bumps into something, someone. The figure is on its knees, bowing and apologizing profusely. Seongwoo watches it, pokerfaced.

 

“Raise your head,” he orders. Slowly, the person looks up. Seongwoo catches their chin in his hand. He studies the pretty face; pink, pink lips, large, doe-like midnight-blue eyes, fair, flawless skin, long, flowing raven-black hair in a flurry.

 

“You must be the other one,” he says, keeping his voice low. The man blinks, the panic in his eyes fading away as he nods in confirmation.

 

Seongwoo’s lips tug into a smirk. He lets go and watches the man bow deeply to him before hurrying away with a strange gracefulness that Seongwoo figures is ingrained in all of them.

 

“He’s a pretty little thing, yours. What’s his name?” Seongwoo’s voice filters in through the silence. Jonghyun sits at his desk, studying a scroll, eyebrows knitted. He barely lifts his head to acknowledge his second-in-command.

 

“Ren. He’s beautiful,” the mighty General says, and it’s hard to miss the fondness in his words. Seongwoo smiles knowingly, taking a seat at the edge of the wooden table, picking up a manuscript and scanning its contents.

 

“He’s a distraction.”

 

“I know.”

 

 

 

There is a storm coming.

 

Seongwoo can feel it in the way the skies begin to grey just when the sun comes out, in the way the whispers among the servants become more intense and the way they avoid his eyes, in the way the scent of the dead still wafts through the air, over the walls and into the palace, in the way the members of the court regard the two of them coldly.

 

He can hear it in the growing dissatisfaction among the citizens. The sparks of rebellion that will soon turn into a raging fire. The thinning shipments and growing black market transactions.

 

He can see it in the way Jonghyun sets his jaw every time they negotiate with the royal guard. In the way the monks tell them that soon, the black will swallow them up and they should give everything up to the gods and search for new land. In the way the children of the city have resorted to climbing over the walls for food, only to be shot down by arrows and their bodies piled up among a thousand others.

 

The queen kills herself in the spring. Her body is burnt in ceremony before her ashes are scattered across the ocean that had carried so many others with it.

 

The king issues an order to behead her family the following day.

 

Jonghyun and Seongwoo are to head the operation to empty their compound. Only two princes remain; favourites of the king. They are left there to fend for themselves.

 

Seongwoo fucks Minhyun raw against a cherry blossom tree, his armour deposited on the ground, gleaming red. His screams reverberate throughout the garden and it’s like the singing of birds to Seongwoo’s ears.

 

He lets Minhyun wash his hair later.

 

Gentle fingers massage his scalp and they sit in the tub for hours, until the water is clear once again.

 

Then, he stands, letting the droplets cool against his skin. He takes a lock of Minhyun’s hair just as he did on their first night and twirls it around his finger before soon, he has a whole fistful of it. He lets out a low groan as Minhyun takes him whole with those red, red lips.

 

Seongwoo comes with a sigh before collapsing back into the water, leaving the other to drag him out of the bath.

 

 

 

The nightmares have always been there. Even before the war.

 

But before, they were just noise in a black void and it’s just dark. Sometimes, there would be Euigeon’s screams, but Seongwoo couldn’t remember enough of that past for it to appear in his dreams too often.

 

Now, all there is, is noise. The black hole gapes up at him, pleading, save us this is all on you your metal your war all you. Skeletons rise from the ground, gripping at his ankles, making him watch as they devour Jonghyun before moving on to him.

 

He wakes with a start, gasping for air and his throat is dry, beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The darkness suffocates and maybe none of it was a dream and he’s going to die soon-

 

A hand travels across his chest, until warm, gentle fingers are entwined with his own.

> _“The moon grows pale._
> 
> _Black are the ripples passing, one by one,_
> 
> _Like shadows through the white bridge of the moon.”_

 

Minhyun’s voice is husky from sleep, its dulcet tone muted against the silk pillows. His lips move against Seongwoo’s pulse, his warm breath pulling him back down to earth.

 

Desperately, Seongwoo captures his lips with his own and they share a hundred kisses until he is pulled back under, this time, into a softer, quiet, slumber, with Minhyun anchoring him as he looks out the edge of the cliff, listening to the waves lapping against the rocks below, less afraid.

 

 

 

The summer is long.

 

Seongwoo heads to the general’s quarters, messenger scrolls in hand.

 

“Jonghyun, the Guard has-”

 

He stops short upon being greeted by an empty home. At the far end of the building, through the crack of an open door, he sees jet black hair splayed out across a tanned chest as the sunlight filters in.

 

Seongwoo clears his throat, leaves the scrolls in the study and goes on his way.

 

 

 

“Do you have a family?”

 

It’s a beautiful day, one of very few.

 

They sit on the veranda, with Seongwoo laying his head on Minhyun’s lap, taking comfort in the cool green silk of his robes. The lake is a bed of yellow and pink petals, still and calm, shifting only under the slight summer breeze.

 

Seongwoo shifts so that he is on his back instead of on his side, to look up at Minhyun, whose eyes are distant as he reads a leather-bound book. Gently, Seongwoo’s fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling it down so he can look at his face without the obstruction.

 

His hair is golden under the rays of sun, so are his eyelashes, so Seongwoo, with a great heave, sits up, places a peck on his eyelid and flops back down into his lap, grinning. The other man remains unfazed, as usual, merely raising an eyebrow and going back to his book.

 

“So?”

 

“My mother and sister,” he murmurs.

 

“Me too.”

 

Seongwoo wonders if it’s alright for him and Jonghyun to be happy (he knows Jonghyun is happy, the happiest he’s been in a long time, because he sees the way his eyes light up every time they have a meeting at his home and Ren enters with tea and linger just a moment longer on his back as he leaves the study room).

 

He wonders if it’s alright for them to have people waiting for them back home, for them to look forward to going back after a long expedition, especially when the people who are waiting for them, aren’t exclusively theirs (have never been, will never be).

 

But then, as he studies the curves of Minhyun’s face; the bridge of his nose, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the hoods of his eyes… he finds that he’s long stopped caring about the world outside.

 

They do so much for others, keeping the city safe from unknown threats, giving everything including their sanity only to come back to nothing but the stench of burning flesh numbing their system and a cold drink at the end of the day.

 

It’s his duty, so he carries on with it, but really, he doesn’t care because why should he? Why should Jonghyun have to keep breaking himself apart, blaming himself, why should Seongwoo scatter pieces of himself in the wind, why should they do any of this when the world gives them nothing but nightmares in return?

 

As Minhyun leans down to kiss him, softly, longingly, warmly, with the sun and the scent of the flowers and the green tea on his lips, Seongwoo thinks, the world could burn all around him and he’d be content, he truly would.

 

 

 

The world does begin to burn.

 

Seongwoo joins Jonghyun at the wall, both of them in shining black armour, bearing the crest of those sending them to their possible deaths.

 

Down below, the purge has long begun. Bodies are strewn everywhere, blood staining the dry earth. Cries of agony ring out all around them. Seongwoo’s blood boils.

 

“Remember who you fight for Seongwoo, I don’t need to tell you again,” is the only thing Jonghyun says before donning his helmet and taking off down the stairs.

 

Together, they mount their steeds and head out.

 

It’s worse than it looks. There are many more rebels than they’d expected. They’ve turned into monsters at this point. Seongwoo watches as they hack the limbs off one of his men, there’s no turning back for them, then he thinks, this is what they’ve driven these people into.

 

He grits his teeth and charges.

 

It is not difficult, not with the blood boiling and the familiar pleasure and adrenaline coursing through his veins, it is not hard at all, he thinks and he’s afraid he’s succumbing to the him during the war.

 

He slashes all of them down in one motion, as easy as target practice and a maniacal laughter bubbles up at the base of his stomach when a spray of blood colours his face. The metallic taste an old friend to his mouth.

 

Then, he hears a cry-

 

_Please, no, Seongwoo you can’t- you don’t have to, we can run away, just don’t, come with me and we’ll-_

_I’m sorry._

 

He blinks and he’s falling, the world tilting. The ground embraces him with a crash. His ears are ringing, _Euigeon, I'm sorry, I should have-_

 

A hand flies out, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. Jonghyun lets out a bellow as he intercepts the sword coming for Seongwoo’s head. The rebel falls to the ground, dead, blood gushing out the gash on his neck.

 

Seongwoo barely registers the wound at his side before he snaps, Daniel’s voice long gone, as he drives his blade through another one coming for Jonghyun.

 

A horn sounds in the distance and they begin running back towards the walls, cutting down every obstacle ahead of them, allowing the last of their adrenaline to take over until the gates are closed and the arrows are let fly and the last shrieks rip through the air, just as the sun begins to set.

 

Jonghyun collapses beside him, blood seeping from his head. He’s carried off in no time, leaving Seongwoo on his knees, breathing hard, as the world comes back into focus.

 

 

 

They sit in complete darkness with nothing but the moon reflecting off the lake as a guide.

 

Minhyun is anal and experienced, cleaning his wounds with the flare of a doctor; methodological and precise.

 

Seongwoo learns that he hates the blood, sees it in the way his hands shake and the way he scrubs his fingers raw in the basin. There’s something frenetic in the way he does it but Seongwoo’s in no shape to offer up any form of comfort and looks away.

 

They sleep apart that night and when Seongwoo wakes up the next day, there’s an indent in the space beside him but Minhyun’s nowhere to be found. Freshly brewed tea is the only indication he was ever there, along with a short note of having errands to run.

 

So he decides to visit the general.

 

Ren, too, is conspicuously missing. Jonghyun lays in his bed, head wrapped in bandages but other than that he doesn’t look too bad.

 

“Their troops are growing. The Manchurians have come to fight with them,” he mutters, barely able to stay conscious. Seongwoo shakes his leg, jittery.

 

“The court is aware. They’re getting rid of us soon, Seongwoo. It’s only a matter of time before the king…” he trails off.

 

They both know what that means. When the king dies, so do the rest of them. They’re part of the next purge.

 

Seongwoo leaves him with a kiss on the forehead just as Ren appears, black hair wild, eyes wide open in surprise and distress, before he smooths his expression out and bows respectfully.

 

As he passes him on the way out, the lieutenant general leans down, bringing his lips close to the other’s ear, just enough for his breath to ghost the shell of his ear.

 

“Take care of him.”

 

 

 

The general and his lover are announced missing a week later and soon, the death sentence is imposed upon them along with a generous bounty set for their capture.

 

Seongwoo and Minhyun stay the same, for the most part. They make love by the lake, under the light of the moon.

 

> _“The dawn breeze wakes where drooping willows sway._
> 
> _Out of the silence comes a distant song,_
> 
> _Nearer and nearer.”_

 

Seongwoo realises that watching Minhyun come undone beneath him is like watching the creation of the universe; colourful and achingly beautiful. So are the sounds that escape from those red lips, the glistening of his mouth, the glazed look in his eyes as Seongwoo fucks him.

 

His world makes a little more sense when he watches the man before him open that mouth of his, forming such pretty words and sounds, the velvet of his voice, the soft breaths against his skin, the half-sobs that are elicited from such an elegant being.

 

He tastes of gold and oranges, of infinite tomorrows and of supernovas and nebulae.

 

They fall asleep together, to the sound of leaves rustling, the small ripples on the surface of the water. Minhyun’s head is buried in his chest and Seongwoo holds him close.

 

He wants the world to burn, if only to keep them together like this for all eternity.

 

 

 

He gets his wish, because the general and his lover are found hanging from the cherry blossom tree at the edge of the blackened field of the dead.

 

The king is pronounced dead the same night with the disease still blooming in his chest.

 

The house is still in the quiet of the night.

 

Seongwoo dreams of the stars and feels his past wash away and knows that, in the distance, the black hole has opened up. The storm has arrived.

 

The wind begins to howl.

 

He smiles.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, sincerely, desperately, knowingly.

 

He can picture Minhyun’s eyes widening just a fraction, feels the grip on the dagger above his throat tightening.

 

“Read to me,” he says, almost inaudibly. His killer doesn’t hesitate.

 

> _“The midnight fishermen are going home._
> 
> _White are their garments as the white reed flowers,_
> 
> _One with white moonbeams.”_

 

Minhyun finishes, leaning against the blood-splattered screens and waits for the fire to swallow them whole.

 

> _“Are they ghosts or men ?_
> 
> _I cannot tell. Their singing dies away.”_

 

It is done.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the poem is from [here](http://anthony.sogang.ac.kr/GrigsbyOrchidDoorPoems.pdf)  
> leave a comment if you liked hurting, it really does help


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